


Withering without you

by jonasnightingale



Series: Of Scotch and Sideways Glances [1]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Barson, Comments are love, Drabble, Elliot returns, F/M, I Don't Even Know, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:27:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29734566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonasnightingale/pseuds/jonasnightingale
Summary: Days turn into weeks turn into years, and it's another loss that haunts her. But maybe this one she can change.
Relationships: Olivia Benson & Elliot Stabler, Rafael Barba & Olivia Benson & Noah Porter Benson, Rafael Barba/Olivia Benson
Series: Of Scotch and Sideways Glances [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2185392
Comments: 17
Kudos: 60





	Withering without you

What Elliot said keeps haunting her, days turn into weeks… With the job she has always known how precious time is, but between the pandemic and patching over the many years of lost history, there’s been an itch thrumming through her. She’s acting on instinct when her feet turn left instead of right and before she’s really made the decision she’s dialling Lucy’s number.

Her hand reaches for the buzzer and she pauses, takes a steadying breath. When his voice rattles through the speaker it is amused and confused, “Liv?” He lets her in without response. Which is good, because she’s still trying to find the words.

He’s leaning against the doorframe waiting when she gets to his floor. He looks good, the beard back and eyes smiling at her even through the crease of concern on his brow. She feels suddenly unsure, standing there in her mask, wrinkles in her workwear as he looks so effortlessly casual with top button popped and shirt sleeves rolled past his elbow. But he’s not wearing shoes and the striped socks instantly put her at ease.

She follows his wave into the apartment, hesitates just inside the door with fingers paused on the strings of her mask. It’s been so long since she’s been inside another person’s house outside of work, and she’s newly conscious of what a risk this was, that she hadn’t thought twice before coming here straight from the precinct with the days particles embedded in her clothes. He closes the door and gives a quirked smile, “Please, Liv. It’s fine.” She lets out a breath she wasn’t aware of holding, unhooks the mask and shoves it into her pocket before slipping out of her coat. 

To be back in his apartment after all this time makes the strange combination of emotions flare up again. The messy complexity she has been trying to wrangle since Elliot’s return. The entangled web of history and wants and fears that she’d been wrangling long before that. 

He tilts his head at her in a silent contemplation before turning to the kitchen, “So. Wine or whisky? There is after all a global pandemic and it’s past six o’clock so I’d say that’s earned us a drink.” He grabs a bottle of her favourite wine from the pantry and her heart twists uncomfortably. She wonders if it’s a stroke of happenstance, or an old memento, or if maybe - just maybe - it was a sign of hope, that one day they’d return to that place.

“Elliot’s back.” And his fingers pause where they are reaching for the glass. It spills out of her unbidden, a rush a words she could not longer hold in. “Something he said just keeps playing over and over in my head - days turn into weeks turn into years.” He resumes movement, dropping back to his heels and turning slowly to watch her. There’s so much space between them and she’s trying to not notice all the changes to the room around them - the new fridge, art hung on the once blank walls. Time has got away from them again.

“So much about when you left, _how_ you left, was reminiscent of… of him.” She shrugs and when she looks up his expression is tortured, twisted into one she has only seen a small handful of times. “You were there one day - my partner, my other half. And then you were gone. Your goodbye; it blind-sighted me, especially when I thought…. This is coming out wrong, I’m not trying to make you… I _understand,_ Barba, all of it. And it’s a wound I’ve borne before, but selfishly-“  
He cuts her off with an utterance of her name that is just raw pain, hand still wrapped around the empty wine glass, body clenched tight against the bench. “Liv…” A warning, an apology, a plea.  
She powers on, trying to reach the point, “I don’t want us to miss our middle. I don’t want to be seventy and filling you in on a life lived in your absence. Days turn into weeks turn into years.”  
He puts the glass down, takes tentative steps towards her, voice quiet even as there is a clear question in it, “I don’t want that either.” He’s closer now, and her nose fills with his cologne. This is how she has missed him, up-close, in each others space, so near to see the flecks in his eyes, the deep lines charting their way across his face.   
"You’ve been back in the city for months now and we’ve seen each other what four times?”  
“I didn’t want to impose.”  
“Barba.” It’s stern.  
“Liv.” he responds in kind. And she can’t help the grin that pushes her cheeks up, the smirk shining bright in his eyes. But then he glances away and she watches the mirth drain from his face, his spine straightening into business posture as he takes a deep breath.

“Initially, it was for me. I needed space, closure, something along those lines.”  
“To move on, I remember.” It’s a hushed utterance between them and she watches as his eyes squeeze tightly shut.  
“And then, it had been months and _everything_ had changed, I didn’t want to come crashing back into your world. Without work, I didn’t know how much you wanted me to.” His eyes are still staunchly diverted and ears blazing red, the last part coming out quiet.   
Without thinking, her hand lifts to his chest, a quiet “Rafa” slipping out of her lips. His head snaps up to catch her gaze. 

It wasn’t the impact she expected Elliot’s sudden reappearance would have in her life. Over the years she had imagined various scenarios, a million ways it could resolve. But it felt like coming home. He wrapped his arms around her and the blue eyes that looked at her were those that had held her gaze a million times. The world quieted and the haphazard shards within her settled back into place. Those eyes knew her, knew every inch of history that had forged her, the rough hands that settled on her arms were the same ones that had held her very blood inside her body, had born her back when she was too young to know better, had thrown her water bottles and car keys and only once let her down. It was a certain kind of peace. And with this big vast question that had underpinned her every relationship now answered - to know that despite the silence they had never been far from each others thoughts - there is space for the rest of it. For the recognition of a longing for suspenders and sharp talking and too many coffees in a day. For the wound inflicted that cold day on the court house steps to stitch back together. For her to swallow her pride, as she had not been able all those years before, and put her hand out.

They share an intense look as seconds tick past around them. One side of his mouth is raised in a sharp purse, his eyes searching. Her finger taps uncertainly where it rests over his heart and she finally _finally_ steps into his space, edging her face towards his. For a moment his gaze flicks heavy to her mouth, his bottom lip swiftly pulling against his teeth and dropping open in a soft invitation. His tone is gravel around her name, trying to ground them, “Liv…”, he trails off and meets her gaze again and Olivia feels her breath catch in her throat. Had he always looked at her like that? So hungry and terrified and yearning? So loving? A sharp pang shoots through her and her fingers curl more securely into his shirt, his name a soft balm on her breath.  
"Rafa…” her spare hand moves up to his neck and his eyes flutter closed at the contact, the air between them heavy with tension, with possibility. His head angles and his arm lifts up towards her and there is just a sliver of space between them, each others breath ghosting tantalisingly over lips when he pulls back, sucking a sharp inhale through his nose and shaking his head swiftly, eyes scrunched tightly together.  
“No Liv, I-we can’t. You, you don’t know how much I- but- we- this is a bad idea.” A terrifying cold dread washes over her, shame and humiliation flipping her stomach. Her hands drop quickly and she steps back, holding them between her like he’s a perp she’s trying to appease.   
“Barba, I-“ her voice is uneven, stretched thin, and she can hear her pulse hammering in her ears. “I’m so sorry. I thought… But no, okay. I didn’t mean to-“ And he can see where her mind is, can see the emotions flitting clear as day across her expression. He rushes in to assure her.  
“No! No, you didn’t-“  
“I didn’t come here to- I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”  
“That’s not-“  
“It was foolish of me. To think-“ She’s rambling to get her apologies across, hoping that if she just keeps talking she won’t have to think about the blush burning her cheeks, won’t have to wonder if this is where it’s all going to end.  
It explodes out of him unbidden, “I killed a baby, Liv!” and she stops short, arms frozen mid-flail. His shoulders sag and she stares at the agony stained clear across his face. When he looks back up to meet her gaze there is exhaustion in his eyes, a weary resignation begging her to understand. His jaw flexes, mouth twisting before he speaks again, tone quiet and raw, “God Liv I want- I have wanted- For so long. But I _killed_ a _child_. You, Noah, you both deserve so much more than I could-“ he trails off, hand scrubbing down his face and Olivia feels her heart shatter in her chest.

She crosses back to him cautiously, presses her hands so gently against his arms and rubs slowly up and back down his muscles. 

“Rafael Barba, you are the best man I know.” She runs a hand through his hair, fingers scraping gently at his temple before her palm traces along his jaw to rest against its curve. He puffs out a small sigh, eyes again fluttering closed at her ministrations. “And I have been waiting eight years to kiss you so if you- if you _do_ want- then-"  
“No pressure or anything.” he quips before a short groan escapes him, “I _want_.” The timbre of his voice makes her gut twist with old longing. “But-“  
“Then let me kiss you.” she says it quietly, breath dancing across his face as she moves closer and he simply nods as her thumb strokes his chin. One of his hands finds its way to her hip, moulding so tenderly against her flesh whilst his other ducks between them to brush her hair back, fingers skating around the curve of her ear in a whisper of a caress.

When their lips finally meet it is delicate, a simple thing filled with warmth and affection. They pull back mere millimetres, eyes searching for assurance, assent. Liv smiles and Barba lunges back into her, pressing his mouth hotly against hers with a barely restrained fervour. She buries her fingers into his hair and his hand finds the dip of her collarbone. 

Days turn into weeks turn into years, but maybe this time the years won’t be steeped in loss. 

**Author's Note:**

> “...but those who loved you, or would have loved you, or wanted to love you but never had the chance, are being scraped hollow by a loss they don't understand. Come home. Please come home. We are withering without you.”  
> ― Bruce Coville, Dark Whispers


End file.
